Showcase: The Earth Poem + Memories Of An Aussie Inbetweenie + The Teacher’s Mirror + Life And Death In The Void

Edited by Claire Buckle

Hello, and thank you for joining me for week two of the ‘Reflection’-themed Showcases. The following pieces all glance back at choices made, paths not taken and the moments that pull us up sharply.

If you’re anything like me, you’ll have had times when you’ve stopped to wonder “what if” and/or “if only.” What if we’d made a different choice? Or, “if only I’d taken a different path.” For some people it must be a never-ending mantra on tragedy, for others a passing thought.

The Earth Poem had a big impact on me. As I read it, the phrase ‘sliding doors’ came to mind. The Radio 4 programme Causing A Scene (available on BBC Sounds) explores how that term only entered our vocabulary because of the film Sliding Doors, which shows two alternate realities based on whether Gwyneth Paltrow’s character catches a train or not. This idea feels especially relevant here. The poem ends with a powerful, unforgettable last line.

The Earth Poem

I will never know
how life would have been
without the footsteps I am following
without the trees I am admiring
the flowers I am painting
the heart shapes I am founding on my path
while walking.

I will never know
how life would have been
if I were another me
another story another love another home
another daughter another embrace another woman…

I will never know
how I would be facing my nights
without these words
keeping me awake to be written
these feelings that enlighten me.

I will never know
what would have become of me
with an easier life
without the pain I was forced to meet
and face.

I will never know
what mother I would have become
if I had not met your tiny feet and tiny hands
your curly hair
your sweetest smiles, the gargling
the relentless screaming during your early childhood.

I will never know what I would have become
if I did not move away when I was young
if I had stayed in my hometown
and just gone to contemplate the sea every night.

Perhaps I would identify with the starry nights
and the blue sky or just nothing at all.

I will never know
what fruits I would taste
if I could take them from the trees
grown on the soil I was born.

I will never know
if my life would have been easier
or more difficult
if I had not followed my heart
and let it be broken in thousand pieces
to be recomposed bit by bit
so that I could become less fragile.

I will never know
how life would have been
if I had made different choices
it would be another me or not me at all
if I had taken that London underground train on time
on July the seventh 2005.

(c) Adriana Polifrone, 2025

Connect with Adriana on Facebook: facebook.com/adriana.polifrone and Instagram: @adrianapolif

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The following piece of prose fits the theme of reflection beautifully because it looks back on a formative period with warmth, humour and a sense of perspective. However, when we reflect on Anne’s experience, it’s impossible not to see the teacher’s behaviour for what it was ­– an unnecessary humiliation – and how (we hope) something like this wouldn’t be tolerated today. This memoir invites us to reflect not only on who we were in the past, but on the adults we trusted.

Memories Of An Aussie Inbetweenie

When I was 11, my family emigrated from rural Ireland to Australia. Not a little kiddie, but not yet a teenager. An ‘Inbetweenie.’

Aah, Australia! Sunshine every day and white sandy beaches, right? When we got off the plane in Melbourne, our teeth chattered so much with the cold, we looked like defective Bobble Heads. “It’s not cold, you’re just over-tired,” Mum said. The first thing she bought was a winter coat for my toddler sister.

Twelve King Street was the first house we lived in. Mum and Dad, all four of my brothers, my sister and I descended en masse. No wonder the little house seemed to shrink back in horror under its corrugated iron roof. But inside, the house got its revenge. It was completely empty. There wasn’t a stick of furniture. Now what?

Thank God our new neighbours had been there, done that and bought the furniture. They were two families of Greeks. The older generations didn’t speak English, but their kindness transcended cultural barriers. Beds, a couch, chairs. Nothing was too much trouble. We were grateful for Greeks bearing gifts!

Some say that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Between the slabs of concrete that made up our back yard, there was an actual lemon tree. My builder Dad made bunk beds. Well, three bedrooms divided by eight people equals bunk beds! Not from the lemon tree. In fact, I hope that lemon tree is still there. I don’t know what happened to the bunk beds.

We stayed at King Street for a year, until number 34 Reacher Street. There, in the kitchen, cupboard doors were a yellow that would test anyone’s gag reflex. They clung on to their respective frames, so that if anyone sneezed those doors would have been offensive yellow floor tiles. This place was falling apart from the inside out. Dad, let the renovations commence…

Whilst the renovations to the house were happening, one of my brothers experienced a very unnerving phenomenon: ‘The Disappearing Bedroom Wall.’ For a while, Daniel slept in a bedroom just off the kitchen. During that time, we made many friends who we invited to the occasional party. At each party, the wall separating Daniel’s bedroom from the kitchen was taken down to make room for guests. It was a bit like The Phantom Of The Opera in reverse. It didn’t matter if the phantom was ready or not, the audience was there! But what do you do if you run out of chairs for your guests? Well, at one memorable barbeque, a neighbour passed chairs over the fence.

In time, yellow cupboard doors and disappearing bedroom walls gave way to a top-of-the-range kitchen dining unit and a dining table which stood on polished parquetry flooring. It was my home all through school.

Speaking of school, education can take on many forms: academic, art, sports. But some lessons come about in the most devastatingly shocking ways. My first trip away from home was with a school trip. It was to Phillip Island, (a peninsula just south of the state of Victoria), to see the Penguin Parade. This strange and beautiful phenomenon sees the Fairy Penguins (the smallest in the penguin family) returning from the sea each evening to burrows they dig to keep their chicks safe. We were so excited.

But any excitement quickly turned to mass hysteria when we were told that we wouldn’t each get to visit the toilet block in turn to change into pyjamas. We all had to change in the same dormitory. Someone else might see our pre-pubescent nakedness! The girls shouted, they cried and they jumped up and down. Our teacher booming out: “Come on! You haven’t got anything we haven’t seen before,” didn’t help. ‘In all this noise,’ I thought, ‘I’ll change into my pyjamas and no one will have noticed.’ What happened next is burned into my memory. I was sitting on my bunk, naked from the waist up, when our teacher pointed directly at me saying: “There’s a girl showing her maturity!” I froze, a lump of pale puppy fat, praying desperately for the sea to sweep me and my ‘maturity’ away. Instead, I learned two things: one, you can’t count on a tsunami when you need one and two, there are some very stupid teachers out there.

There’s an expression in Australia: “She’ll be right.” Meaning, everything will be all right. One Easter long weekend, Dad took this a bit too far. At the time, there was a blockbuster film out called The Man From Snowy River. Set in Mount Kosciuszko, (pronounced Koziosko), the story was based on a poem of the same name by Andrew Barton Banjo Patterson. I don’t know whether it was the romance of the film or the poem. Or maybe it was the great swathes of mountainous beauty created, just waiting to be discovered. In any case, Dad was inspired to take us there on holiday. But with one problem. “Every place will be booked up months in advance!” Mum protested in vain. “We’ll find something,” Dad said. Or, as the Aussies say: “She’ll be right.” But, guess what? Every place was booked up months in advance.

As night closed in, our roomy family sedan became smaller and smaller, with the tick of the clock in the car getting louder and louder. Finally, Mum got out and marched across the road to a pub, saying with furious defiance: “If I have to sleep in the car, I’m damn well going to have a good dinner.” Following her felt like The Charge Of The Light Brigade. It was the best thing that could have happened. Mum and Dad got talking to the owner of the pub and he told us about a B&B down the road, with rooms available. Hands down, it was the best Aussie holiday I ever had.

This is just a teaspoon of what growing up in Australia was like. I had many more adventures. I hope I’ve whetted your appetite!

(c) Anne Fogarty, 2025

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Dan Janoff’s The Teacher’s Mirror is probably the most obvious nod to our theme because it’s literally about a mirror! But there’s more going on here than just classroom mischief and clever tricks. What starts off as a funny moment (trying to catch cheeky students messing around) quickly shifts into something deeper.

The Teacher’s Mirror

No line of sight, my desk to door,
means mischief makers seize their chance;
they cluck and strut like cheeky pups
brazen with shenanigans.

A mirror may just do the trick,
I mount it so that I can see
the door that leads into the room –
a vantage on their knavery.

But wait, you see I’m now exposed,
where once was cloaked from prying eyes,
I’m now laid bare to secret stares –
the looking glass will aid the spies.

This does in turn make me reflect,
what is this job – am I on track?
Am I a mirror to my class?
I wonder if they see my cracks.

(c) Dan Janoff, 2025

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Life And Death In The Void takes us on an emotional journey through space. The theme runs through every part of this final poem. As the speaker drifts alone in the darkness of space, they’re also drifting through their thoughts and feelings.

Life And Death In The Void

The darkness was intensely deep
which made the stars seem bright.
I took my seat upon the ship
and went into the void.

A simple repair I was told.
Replace one circuit on the bird.
Out and back, two hours tops.
I journeyed in the void.

In space suit now, the ship has docked.
Through the airlock, out in space,
floating, held by one thin rope.
A speck out in the void.

The job is done, I’m heading back,
and then I feel a nudge.
I turn and see another suit,
just floating in the void.

I look at flags, then at the name,
the same as mine, my heart beats fast.
My brother disappeared last month,
while working in the void.

My heart is broken, but I’m glad
that he has finally come back.
A sense of calm steals over me
that moment in the void.

Now I know, now I can grieve,
formalities can be complete,
rest in peace, not MIA,
not missing in the void.

The darkness is intensely deep
which makes this one star bright.
My brother now looks over me,
it’s peaceful in the void.

© Ray Miles, 2025

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I hope you enjoyed this week’s offerings, and I look forward to sharing more inspirational work next week.

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Connect with Claire on Instagram: @cloubuckle, Threads: @cloubuckle and on Facebook: Claire Buckle.

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